


Only Wanna Dance with You

by CactuarTamer



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Illustrated, Literal Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8012197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactuarTamer/pseuds/CactuarTamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t that he disliked dances, or parties, only...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Wanna Dance with You

It wasn’t that he disliked dances, or parties, or anything like that, but he had disliked that one. Because it hadn’t just been a dance, it had been another Pokemon showcase, really. It had been one more competition. A gauntlet of showmanship and social maneuvering before the next real thing. And Jessie had treated it accordingly. Team Rocket might not have won all that often, but they always _played_ to win, by whatever means necessary.  

 

It was an ethos which ensured he’d spent the entire evening on guard, on edge, wary of slipping up, not wanting to face her if he let her down here. This wasn’t like one of their schemes, wasn’t Team Rocket against the world. It was the world’s stage they stood on, and they were playing by the world’s rules, however insincerely, however temporarily, and it was exhausting. He wasn’t like Jessie. He couldn’t enjoy this kind of thing if she wasn’t with him. And she wasn’t _with_ him at that party. Not really.

 

So no, he hadn’t enjoyed the dance. But afterwards?

 

Afterwards when they were walking back to their camp, still dressed to the nines, and she was still laughing and preening, but different, better, because the planning was over and the competition was over and it was just them, now, she was _here_ , now…

 

Afterwards when she spun around with a flourish, a few feet ahead of him on the path and the moonlight rippled over her skirt as it moved… Afterwards, he laughed too, twirling to make his coattails fly out behind him, finishing with a bow as he offered her his hand.

 

She took it.

 

They’d danced nearly all the rest of the way back to their little clearing, alternately laughing and singing snatches of songs they both knew, until they were back and she swung him around and dipped him and they were both still laughing, foreheads pressed together in the warm summer night. Warmer, in fact, than he’d thought. He was so very warm. He felt a little lightheaded.

 

Meowth cleared his throat.

 

They pulled apart, smiles still tugging at the corners of their mouths. Jessie looked flustered, almost. Her face was flushed. The warm night must be getting to her, too. They _had_ danced an awful lot.

 

Neither of them said anything as they changed out of the extravagant clothes and lay down next to each other to sleep, Meowth curled up nearby.

 

…….

 

James sighed, a smile spreading across his face at the memories of that night. He was leaning forward, an elbow on a clear patch of table and his head propped against his palm. This party was much better than that one had been. This party was just Team Rocket and their Pokemon, celebrating how well Jessie had done in the contest for Kalos Queen. He yawned. They should probably start to head back, though. Popping the last lonely appetizer on the platter into his mouth, he picked up the wine bottle and split the last of it between their three glasses. She smiled back at him from across the table, sitting up from where she’d begun to droop against Wobbuffet as the night wore on.

 

“One last toast?” he offered, raising his glass.

 

“To Jessie!” Meowth thrust his glass into the air.

 

“To us,” she said, smiling back at the both of them, and he felt… he thought that their eyes met, that she meant that for him, just for him…

 

\--But the moment is gone then, and he’s back in the present, thinking the wine really must be going to his head.

 

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she finishes, looking around at all of them, lazily patting Wobbuffet as she raises her glass to join theirs.

 

Their glasses clink together and it sounds like music. He drains the last of his wine, a thought tugging at his attention. There was music that night too. He’s humming to himself as they walk back to camp, trying to remember the melody. There’s no dancing this time, just walking, but they’re both feeling a little unsteady--they probably shouldn’t have gotten the second bottle--and the night is just a little bit too cool to be completely comfortable, so it’s natural that they’d walk close by, it’s natural that she’d slip an arm around his waist. To steady herself, of course.

 

He’s feeling unsteady, too, so he returns the gesture, curling an arm around, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. She tenses up a little before relaxing, leaning into him, and then they’re back at camp but neither of them is moving away. He’s still humming, and he realizes she is too. She remembers the music, he thinks, though it’s really very difficult to think through the fuzzy warmth of the wine--it’s the wine, surely--and Jessie’s arm tightens around his waist, pulls him closer until they’re pressed together, swaying to the remembered melody.

 

So they dance tonight, too, slowly this time. James leans into her, resting his head on her shoulder, and after a moment she does the same. He doesn’t feel cold anymore, and he can’t help but smile, cheek still pressed against her shoulder. Jessie’s arms tighten at his waist for a moment, hugging him tighter before they both raise their heads, looking up, looking back at the other. He’s close enough to feel her breath on his face and the night air isn’t as nearly cool as he thought it was when they were walking.

 

They don’t pull apart this time, just sort of sink to the ground where they are, until they’re sitting together on one of the unrolled sleeping bags. Had Meowth set this out? He hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t see Meowth anywhere. It doesn’t matter, she’s looking at him now. Her face is flushed again, like it was that night. It must be the wine, he thinks. They did have an awful lot.

 

He opens his mouth, starts to say something, but the words die as she tugs him closer--her hands are on the front of his vest now, he doesn’t remember them moving--and pulls them both down onto the sleeping bag, closing her eyes, one arm thrown across his waist. She’s asleep instantly, breathing slow and regular and still close enough he can feel it brushing his cheek. She’s beautiful like this, he thinks, unguarded, but of course she is, she’s always been beautiful. His eyes are drifting closed too, and he pulls closer, nestling his head in the crook of her shoulder and drifting, lulled by the rhythm of her chest as it gently rises and falls. He can hear her heartbeat like this. It sounds like music, too. 


End file.
